Burnout: the mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281 (26 page)

"Him!" Childers pointed at Crash. "It's that guy I saw on the TV! The guy that was investigating the Space Shuttle disaster! It's Crash Murphy!"

Bradenton scowled, staring at them, as Murphy and Anders exchanged shocked glances.

* * * *

"No, no," Crash said, his demeanor as calm as he could manage, as the four of them sat in a conference room, the door firmly closed. "My name is Tom McIntosh, and this is my friend and colleague, Chuck Anderson. We got in to Vegas about, oh, three days ago, from Washington. I don't even know this… ‘Crash Murphy' person."

"Who the hell are they talking about, Tom?" Anders wondered, feigning deep puzzlement with surprising skill.

"Beats me," Crash shrugged. "Something on the news, I gather."

"Well, that explains it," Anders shrugged. "Neither one of us has seen the news in awhile. You've been worshiping the porcelain throne for the last couple of days."

"Yeah, thanks for being there for me, pal," Murphy told Anders in a grateful fashion. "As sick as I was, I'd probably have ended up in the emergency room, if you hadn't been there."

"No worries," Anders shrugged, as Bradenton and Childers looked on, curious. Childers wore a suspicious scowl.

"I'm tellin' ya, boss," Childers protested to his superior then, "that's Crash Murphy, and he shouldn't be here! They said he was wanted for child molestation or something."

Murphy glared at the younger man, face flushing, furious. "I. Am not. A damn child molester," he said through gritted teeth. "How dare you accuse me…?"

Anders put a hand on Murphy's arm in hidden alarm.
Don't blow it now, mate. Keep it cool,
his mind urged, wondering how to settle his friend.

"Calm down, Tom," Anders offered, soothing. "It's just a case of mistaken identity. So what if this Murphy bloke is a criminal? We know who you are. We've got our government identification, and our paperwork and orders. Everything's just as it should be. If we need to," Anders pointed out, "we can call… Headquarters. They can verify everything for us." He squeezed Murphy's upper arm with hidden meaning.

A knock sounded on the door. "Who is it?" Bradenton asked.

"It's Emily, sir. I got what you wanted." The female voice was muffled through the wood.

"Come in," Bradenton called.

A young woman stepped in and handed the manager a color printout. "Here you go, boss. I just pulled down the most recent report."

"Thank you, Emily," Bradenton nodded as she left the room. "Now look here, Childers," he said, handing the younger man the printout. "Here's the report on this Murphy fellow, complete with identifying photos. Does that look like Mr. McIntosh here, to you?"

Childers studied the images up close. "Well… yes and no," he confessed, not quite ready to admit total defeat. "They gotta be related. There's a strong family resemblance, there," the man pointed out. "But… yeah, this guy here," he pointed at a still flushed Crash, "has red hair, and that ruddy skin tone that goes with it. This guy," he tapped the printout, "has dark hair and a tan."

"Yes," Bradenton agreed calmly, "and I've seen their identification, and the orders were waiting in my computer inbox after we picked them up at the hangars. They're really GAO, Childers, on a surprise inspection and audit. Anderson is right--everything is as it should be."

"Can I see?" Anders queried with interest, gesturing for the hard copy of the internet article.

"Sure thing, Anderson," Bradenton cooperated, handing over the paper. "Here you go."

Anders gazed down at the paper, skimming through the article, before studying the image. It was indeed the spitting image of his friend who sat beside him. However, Anders noted that it was an older photograph, probably a couple of years old, and that in it, Crash had a deep tan, much deeper than he currently possessed. "Wow," he remarked, seeming amazed. "Tom, they're right. This Murphy guy looks a lot like you. That's just… weird."

"Let me see that," a perturbed Murphy reached for the article, taking it out of Anders' hands, and staring down at his own face on the paper. "Did you say Murphy?"

"Yeah," Anders agreed, pointing at the name contained in the article. "See here?"

"Damn," Crash grumbled, scowling. "My grandmother's side of the family was named Murphy. This dude must be a cousin or something. Shit." He looked up at the others, feigning worry. "I better track this down when I get home. I wouldn't want to get my clearance screwed up on account ‘a this guy." He waved the article anxiously.

"Ooo, good point," Anders murmured, thoughtful. "If you want help, I'll give it a go, Tom."

"Thanks, Chuck," Crash accepted the offer, grateful. "Yeah, I might need a bit of help explaining, all right. You know what Potter's like when he gets his shorts in a wad." He stared back down at the article and shook his head in disgust. "What a damn mess."

"Well, now that that's settled," Bradenton smiled, "we should all get back to work." He gave a sharp glance to Childers, who nodded meekly and scurried out of the room.

* * * *

"Well, that about covers it, fellas," Bradenton noted, leading the pair back to the main entrance. "That's pretty much all we've got." He paused, then met their eyes regretfully. "And, uh, listen… I just wanted to apologize for the… uh, incident… with Childers. He's a little more… excitable… than most of our guys, and, well…"

"Don't worry about it," Anders clapped the manager on the back. "It's easy to see how he might think that. Certainly a resemblance there."

"Yeah," Murphy added, nodding. "I'm just glad he brought it to my attention. I've gotta see about that, when we get home."

"Uh-huh," Anders agreed.

"Um," Bradenton hesitated before beginning again. "Chuck, Tom, I was wondering… how did it go?"

Crash raised an eyebrow. "Ah, now, Mr. Bradenton, you know we can't discuss that. It'll all come out in the formal report, when we get back to headquarters."

"I know," Bradenton admitted. "I was just hoping you could…" he shrugged. "Give me a hint?"

Crash and Mike exchanged resolute glances. "I think you can say," Crash considered his words carefully, "that this facility will be going, just like it is, for some time to come."

Bradenton relaxed visibly.

Anders looked back at Murphy. "Well, Tom, now what?" he wondered. "It's still early in the day."

"It's quite a few hours yet before the evening Janet flights," Bradenton noted. "You two are more than welcome to stay here if you'd like. You can use the can and the break room, and I'll give you a conference room to hang out in." He smiled in a friendly, helpful fashion.

Anders stared in expectation at Murphy, who was pretending to mull over Bradenton's offer. Murphy felt the scrutiny, and glanced at Anders, a question in his eyes and on his lips. "What?"

"You promised," Anders reminded him, purporting to control his faux eagerness.

Crash's eyes twinkled. He shot a secretive, amused look at Bradenton, who found himself desperately hiding a smirk behind his hand. "Promised what?" Crash wondered, playing the innocent.

"Damn it, Tom!" Anders exploded. "You promised we'd take a look around the hangars when we were done here!"

"Did I say that?" Murphy teased. "I didn't say that."

"Yes, actually, I believe you did," Bradenton chortled his amusement.

"No, I didn't," Murphy vowed with a mischievous expression in his eyes. "I'd remember if I had said that. I'm sure I would."

"Dammit!" Anders exclaimed in irritation. "Tom, after I babysat you for two blasted days through puking and squirting, you'd damned well better not back out on me!"

Crash and Bradenton laughed aloud. "Relax, pal," Crash clapped Anders on the shoulder. "I'm just pullin' your leg. We've got the whole rest of the day to explore those damn hangars to your heart's content, and like Mr. Bradenton here said earlier, still be on the clock, to boot." He turned to Bradenton. "Say, can we borrow your driver and Humvee again? I'd rather not melt into a puddle, trying to get back over to the blasted hangars."

"No problem, gentlemen," Bradenton grinned, watching as Anders all but hopped in place with excitement. "Come on, I'll see you on your way."

* * * *

"There they are!" Paul cried from the top of Black Butte, staring through his binoculars at the Humvee roaring across the dry lake bed. "They're headed back over to the hangars!"

"That's our cue, guys!" Phillips called, and the large group gathered around. "Is everyone ready?"

Nods and calls of, "Hell, yeah!" came from around the top of the butte.

"All right, you all know what your jobs are," Phillips noted. "Let's do it!"

Immediately the group split up. One third of the group, including Phillips, turned and ran away from the edge of the butte, down the gentler slope to the east, away from the secret base. The remaining two thirds split in two, one group running north, the other, south, down the slope of the mountain to its base.

There, they began a steady, determined advance toward the perimeter of the Groom Lake facility, dodging the cacti and Joshua trees. "Look sharp!" Paul called to the southern group, studying his photocopied map as he strode forward. "Sensor up ahead!" He pointed at a well-hidden infrared sensor inside a large clump of sagebrush. Deliberate, he walked squarely through its range. "There we go! That ought to get their attention!"

They continued to advance on the perimeter. Up ahead, a tall chain link fence topped with concertina wire could be seen through the brush.

* * * *

The security guard dropped the pair off at Hangar 1 just as the call came in on his radio. "Yeah, Control, this is Charlie-Two," he responded to the call.

"Charlie-Two, you are needed at the eastern perimeter, straight across from the base of Black Butte," the radio said in a tinny voice. Behind the guard, unseen, Crash and Mike exchanged satisfied glances. "Code three."

"Nature of the situation?" the guard wondered.

"There are two large contingents of civilians approaching the perimeter fence from the north and south sides of the butte," the metallic voice said again. "Head for the gate and be prepared to back up perimeter guards in apprehension."

"Roger that," the guard replied. "Wilco." He turned to the two infiltrators. "Well, you guys take it easy," he said. "The first Janet flight will land around about five this evening, and keep arriving every twenty minutes or so for three hours after that. You can hop on board any of ‘em. I gotta go."

"See ya, dude," Crash waved, as the guard shifted gears on the Humvee and drove off. "Thanks."

Anders and Murphy waved until the guard disappeared into the distance. "Let's go," Anders said then, and they turned to enter the first hangar.

* * * *

Inside the door of the hangar, Crash and Mike stared. "Well, shit," Anders grumbled, disappointed, as he gazed across the cavernous, empty floor. "Not one bloody thing. Except dust."

"Nope," Crash agreed, surprised. "That's… troublesome."

"Yeah. On to the next?" Anders wondered.

"I guess so. We can always come back if we decide we need to."

They closed the door and wandered on to the next hangar.

* * * *

"Damn, this is beginning to look like a pattern," Murphy noted when the view inside Hangar 4 was as bare as that inside Hangar 1. "But we know there was shit in Hangar 18."

"Yeah," Anders agreed. "And some of that shit was our coveralls. I'm about ready to go find ‘em, Crash," he noted. "I am sweltering in this thing." He flopped the lapels of his dark wool suit coat in a vain attempt to get cooling air beneath it.

"Well, that's not a bad idea," Crash decided. "Let's just make for 18 and peep in each one on our way, then. If we actually find anything, we can come back for it after we change."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Mike asked.

Suddenly the sound of gunfire rang out in the distance to the east. Both men flinched, turning and staring out at the mountains, most particularly at Black Butte. "Damn," Crash whispered, anxious.

"George is out there," Anders murmured, ill at ease. "You don't suppose…?"

"I sure hope not," Crash's forehead was creased in worry. "Not that there's anything we can do about it."

"I suppose not." Anders was subdued. "It was my idea. I'll never forgive myself if…" his voice faded into silence.

"Well," Crash became very determined, "let's make use of their sacrifices, and get as much done as we possibly can, while we can."

"Good point," Anders nodded, encouraged, and matching Crash's firmness. "Let's get the lead out and go."

* * * *

When the perimeter guards showed up, all hell broke loose. The paramilitary force moved in on the groups of UFO aficionados, guns raised. Several of the guards fired over the heads of the civilians, who stood their ground for a few more minutes as the guards continued to advance.

The sound of multiple engines revving erupted from behind the UFO groupies, and the guards jumped, startled. Instinct and training kicking in, they snapped their weapons into position in preparation for this new, perceived threat. "Down! Stand down!" the commanding officer cried, reminding them of the standing order procedure to apprehend only.